GRAPPLING THE GIRL NEXT DOOR

by Antonia Matheson

Part Four: The first flight of fancy

July 8 - Flight to NYC

A mid-afternoon flight had suddenly turned into an evening flight, and this
had made Kirstin increasingly nervous. The weather had grounded most of the
planes, and it was Kirstin’s secret hope that they would be delayed until the
next day. A night flight was the worst of all flights, a warm hotel room and
room service seemed much more appealing. But here they were in the middle of
a summer storm.

Just my bloody luck.

They were aimlessly wondering around the airport. Suze and Josh were trying,
Kirstin could tell, to act as normally as possible but Kirstin almost lost it
when Josh turned round for the um-teenth time to ask her if she was okay.

“You’re not frikkin’ helping Josh!” she shouted at him.

His face went bright red and she immediately wished she could take it back.
He looked like he was going to cry.

Now look what you’ve done.

Josh suddenly flashed Kirstin a knowing look.

You wicked bastard, she thought.

“You’re bad…” he admonished with a tick of his finger. “You’re over tired too…”

Josh had been woken in the wee hours by Kirstin in need of a comedown aid,
and had willingly obliged. He even rolled one for her and Meg to share.

“Shush! She’s like my mother,” Kirstin said referring to Suze who was walking
just behind them, “I don’t need her telling me off right now.”

“Okay, okay, your secret’s safe. For now…”

“Fuck.” She sighed regretfully, “I’m sorry ok? But just when I forget where
I am and what I’m about to do you ask if I’m ok and then I remember where I
am and I realise, “No, I’m not ok”, and then it starts all over again.”

“I’m sorry, Kaye,” he shook his head almost mournfully.

“It’s okay. It’s not your damned fault I’m a nutcase!” she laughed. “C’mere,”
Kirstin dragged him into hug. “Just don’t ask me that again ok?” she warned
as she pulled away.

“I got it,” he replied through a goofy smile. “How bout I let you kick my ass
at something by way of apology?”

“Let me? How bout I just kick your ass?” she responded good-naturedly,
but then spotted the games arcade behind him. “Actually, you’re right, beating
you emotionally would be way more satisfying!”

They both trotted off toward the
flashing lights leaving Suze shaking her head. “I’ll be shopping if you want
me,” she shouted after them. They waved her a half-hearted bye and continued
on their way.

Suze rolled her eyes. “Kids.”

The airport was fairly busy due to all the delays, but that only made shopping
more of a challenge for Suze who could spot a bargain at one hundred metres.
She was sorry to have to admit that bargains were not often found in airports
however, and since they were the most likely contenders for her time over the
next few months she found herself slipping slowly into a retail coma hell. Ugh.

#

One of Kirstin’s favourite “I’ll kick your ass!” type arcade games was Time
Crisis. It was a popular one of her generation, and the original was becoming
increasingly hard to track down. Yet here it was.

Having spent a good few years at college perfecting her skills in the game,
she had actually enrolled at the shooting range for a year or so with her dad,
before deciding that guns should stay plastic. She was still a good shot however,
even when the gun was plastic.

“I don’t know why I subject myself to this humiliation time after time,” Josh
sighed as he noted he was on his last life. Kirstin smiled as she lined up to
another target on the screen and let rip.

“How did you get to be so competitive?” he asked her as a bright red bullet
headed his way cracking into the fake window of the computer screen and causing
the game to thunder “Continue?”

He slung the gun back into its holster refusing to spend any more money on
the futility of playing alongside Kirstin.

“This is a team game Joshua…”

“I know, and yet you still seem to win!”

“People who are good at games, like to play them…” she stated simply, not losing
her focus on the screen. “And I resent the word ‘competitive’ because it seems
to suggest I’m not a good loser. When in fact I rarely loose, so how would you
even know?” she raised an eyebrow at his reflection in the glass of the game
screen.

His ruffled blonde hair was only out-shone by the skinny-fit retro, lemon coloured
t-shirt he was wearing. It was one that Kirstin coveted, but in three years
she still hadn’t managed to coax him into giving it to her. He had flatly refused
for it to be a competition prize on so many occasions Kirstin had lost count.
The reason being, he knew he’d lose. And he was right.

Josh chuckled at her. “That’s very, very true,” he said shaking his head.

“The kinda people that say things like that are people who don’t play games
because they’re not good at them. Or who pretend they don’t care if they loose
because they are expecting to.”

She manoeuvred through the various levels with ease racking up points and bonuses
along the way.

“The people I most respect are people like you Josh, who try to win, even when
the odds are stacked against them. Now that’s competitive,” she smiled
suppressing a giggle before shooting a fictional pixelated criminal between
the eyes to get to the next round. She turned to look at him.

“I know you’re not a bad loser…” she teased. “And I don’t like to use competitive
like it’s a dirty word. I’d rather loose a well-played game than win a poor
one. Trust me.”

Her mind was cast back suddenly to an image of her oldest brother Danny pelting
baseballs at her in the cage, tears dripping down her face. At the time she’d
hated him, but a couple of weeks later the blonde little English girl that all
the kids teased during school games had struck a home run to bring her team
to victory. Her heart lurched causing Kirstin to shove the memory of his beaming
face by the sideline to the back of her head for safekeeping.

Josh ran a hand through his shoulder length mane and scratched at the stubble
he had let develop over the last couple of days. Kirstin smiled at him fondly.
“It suits you,” she said, relieved that she was able to hold back the tears
that had threatened.

“What does?” he asked, confused.

“The stubble thing you have going on,” she gestured, stepping forward to give
his cheek a rub. “I think Suze likes it too…” she threw in, watching him blush.

“Did she say that to you?” he asked quietly.

“She doesn’t need to Josh,” she told him. He pulled half a version of
his puppy-type face.

“Why don’t you just tell her?” Kirstin sighed.

“She’s not available,” he moaned, putting on a mock sulk.

“She’s still with Kevin?!”

Kirstin was shocked. It wasn’t often Kirstin had a strong negative reaction
to someone, she usually either liked them or was indifferent, but Kevin was
an exception. Kevin was what Kirstin would term as ‘a complete knob’.

“He asked her to marry him!” he said his facing growing sadder by the second.

“What?! When did this happen?”

“Before we came away.”

“Why wasn’t I notified?! Fuck…”

Kirstin breathed looking at him sympathetically.

“Aw shit Josh, I’m sorry.”

Putting the gun down she gave him a big hug before pulling back again in thought,
“Did she say yes yet?” she asked him with interest.

“She said she told him she needed time to think…”

“Well that’s great!” she exclaimed, hitting him on the shoulder.

Josh looked at her.

“It is?”

“If she loved him what would there be to think about?” she pointed out.

“Oh, I don’t know Kirstin… life isn’t that simple.”

“Loife”, Kirstin mimicked his accent, causing him to smile, “is as simple as
you choose to make it Josh,” she stated. “When you’re unsure of something you
can create a million different reasons why to say no. Yet when you’re certain
of something, even though those reasons still exist, they just seem to have
less power; they feel like obstacles you can overcome. If the obstacles win,
you don’t want it enough,” she finished seriously.

Josh looked at her, thankful for the small bit of hope she’d just instilled
in him, even if he thought it might be misguided.

“You’re used to playing the underdog, remember?” she told him, motioning to
the game behind them which by now, lacking Kirstin’s gun power, had run out
of credits.

Suze sighed lightly. “There’s not a lot of entertainment to be had, trust me,
I’ve been wondering around aimlessly for hours now.”

“I’ve got scrabble…” Ben offered.

#

Having spent a good couple of hours playing, Meg and Kirstin had accepted they
were fairly evenly matched when it came to arcade games, though secretly they
both conceded that Meg was a better fighter/dancer and Kirstin was a better
shooter/driver.

Kirstin felt a little woozy from the 3d video-car roller-coaster ride Meg had
insisted they get on. She was silently cursing herself for allowing Meg to drag
her into the damn thing, knowing full well she would feel sick afterwards. But
somehow she’d discovered she just couldn’t say no to the excited little grownup
girl that pouted when she’d shook her head unwillingly.

Kirstin shot Meg a quick glare at the thought.

“C’mon, it was fun!” Meg shrugged, feeling a little guilty at the green
tinge that had swept over the blond women’s face.

“I need to sit down,” Kirstin said dourly, rubbing her stomach a little.

“Okay. I’m sorry. Why’d you let me haul you onto it in the first place?” Meg
hitched her head in the direction of one of the more comfortable looking cafés
she’d spotted.

Kirstin silently nodded in agreement, and they both headed towards it.

“You didn’t give me much choice. It was the crappy graphics that did it. Almost
as bad as the Odeon’s film intro nonsense…”

“Ha, yeh, it is a bit like that I guess. All eighties neon…”

As they neared the half-lit airport café Kirstin heard some familiar voices.

“Well, look what we found…”

Meg followed her eye-line to find Josh, Suze, Jess and Ben seated in a large
round booth, being rather animated.

Back to reality, thought Meg.

“Hey you guys, mind if we join?”

Jess looked up, ”Hey crappers, how you doing?”

Kirstin’s brow furrowed. If this was her being accepted into the fold she wasn’t
sure she was ready for it.

Meg jogged up to their table and leapt over the large bench seat with ease
to settle down next to Jess who head butted her affectionately. She ruffled
her patchy dyed hair fondly in response.

“Hey,” Meg said, acknowledging the rest of the table.

Even if Kirstin’s stomach hadn’t been reeling, she doubted she could manage
to vault the round bench. She settled instead for walking relatively conservatively
round the booth to the entrance on the other side.

“Hey guys,” she said, a little less enthusiastically as they all shuffled round
to accommodate her.

“That’s not how you spell it!” Jess piped up noticing Ben take his turn.

“Sure it is!”

Kirstin cast her eye over the game that was currently in play, suddenly realising
that not only were they actually playing scrabble, but that it was no
normal game of scrabble. Her eyebrows hiked when she read the word Ben had placed
down.

Jess laughed loudly, “It’s ghetto scrabble, Kaye…” she purred before cracking
the gum she was chewing.

“Where in the Hell is my camera when I need it?” Kirstin sat back against the
velvet upholstery and peeked a look at Suze’s hand of letters. She shook her
head. “And who wudda thunk it?” she laughed at the rude knowledge her assistant
showed.

Suze had the word “Minge” laid out and ready to go, with an ‘R’ at the end
to open up the possibilities. Kirstin leaned over and re-arranged the letters
R-I-M-space-I-N-G, and pointed at the available ‘M’ on the board.

Suze’s jaw dropped, “You are dirty!” She growled. “Thanks!”

Grinning, she patted Kirstin’s leg before revealing her word to the group,
neatly taking a triple score in the process.

They all looked at Kirstin.

“What?”

“Well ain’t you just full of surprises?” Jess piped up, a glint in her eye.

The moment Kirstin had been dreading since the start of the tour had finally
come. There was no escaping it.

“That’s our call guys,” Suze declared.

Most of the crew had gathered in the same area of the departure lounge and
people began to get their stuff together.

“Do you think we can wait ‘til the rush has gone?” Kirstin asked quietly.

“Oh, sure. Sure, of course we can,” nodded Suze, “Whatever you want.”

Kirstin smiled a little sheepishly, “Thanks.”

She watched what seemed like two hundred people pile down the corridor toward
their gate. All of them busy checking they had their documentation, most of
them seemingly happy and excited, and the occasional few clearly disgruntled
by the six-hour wait. It certainly had been a long time. But she was used to
sitting around, waiting.

Suze was unaccustomed to seeing her boss so… vulnerable, she realised.

Kirstin was the doer, the person who made things happen, who got stuck in,
who stood up to be counted. And yet here she was nervously fingering anything
she came into contact with.

Suze and Kirstin had become very close in the four years they had worked together.
Kirstin had insisted that she have her as her assistant when she took over at
Idleworld. Even though Suze was a little older than her it had never been an
issue because in Suze’s eyes Kirstin was the hardest working, most talented
director and producer she had ever worked with. And she had worked for a lot
of people. It was rare to find yourself working with someone whom you actually
respected and liked.

And as far as personality had gone the two had clicked from the first day they’d
met. In fact from the very first words Suze had heard Kirstin speak, she knew
she was going to like this plucky young English woman. She had balls.

“You’re wrong Craig, I don’t mind telling you that. If you put her in
the picture the audience will come, sure, but the reviewers will slate it. She’s
wrong for the role and she can’t bloody well act! And I’m not going to sit back
and let you ruin this fantastic script!”

“What the fuck are you going to do Kirstin?!” Craig had glared, “It’s
my project and ultimately I choose.”

Kirstin’s voice had dropped an octave, “I’ll tell you what the fuck I’m
going to do,” she had said, looking at the director evenly, “I’m going to call
Hilary Macy and tell her that not only are you set on destroying your own career,
as well as the writer’s, but you’re also intent on dragging down the reputation
of her very select and well-renowned film company! And if she’s still happy
to let you make all the decisions then I’ll tell her she needs to find herself
another frikkin’ producer!”

“You wouldn’t dare…”

“Try me, arsehole.”

That had been Suze’s first week of secondment to Idleworld, which to her back
then, was nothing more than a subsidiary of the company she worked for, Crater
films. Kirstin was working as a freelancer with the company at the time, but
within a year she had made the biggest leap of her life, and Craig had been
blacklisted by the company.

Now that’s justice.

It was only later that Suze had learned Kirstin had been bluffing that day.
But to her it didn’t matter whether she’d had any intention of quitting, just
talking back to Craig Petty like that, who had a reputation for being a prick,
was impressive enough.

The film in question had been shelved. But both she and Kirstin were resolute
in bringing it back to the drawing board, just as soon as they could get the
funding for what was now a controversial, if very good script.

In fact that was why they were sat here now wasn’t it? Because Kirstin had
seen a way to put right what they had both conceded was a travesty.

Suze was one of the few people that truly understood why Kirstin had a problem
with flying. She was also aware that Kirstin didn’t share the reason for her
fear with very many people, and she had to respect that, even though she felt
her blood boil when people taunted her for being a wimp.

They had left it as long as they could, the final call came and Kirstin agreed
they should start making their way. She ditched the light reading she had bought
to pass the time, knowing full well she’d not be able to relax enough to read
during the flight, and followed Josh’s lead.

Kirstin was surprised at how at ease she felt as she joined them on the travelator.
She worked on staying focussed on the fact that she HAD to get on the plane,
she had no other viable options.

I can do this, no problem.

Then she saw it. As they turned the corner to face the entrance of their gate
there it was.

Suze turned around to see Kirstin frozen to the spot staring at the big jumbo
she could see flashing ominously through the terminal window.

“Shit,” she cursed under her breath. “Kirstin?” she ventured. Kirstin didn’t
move.

Josh spun round to see what was going on as Suze moved towards her.

She tried again. “Honey?”

It was dark outside beyond the terminal building with the remainder of the
storm clouds that had clearly prevented their earlier departure. The rain was
hitting the panes in rhythmic sheets. Of all evenings to be taking a nervous
passenger flying, this was a bad one.

Kirstin was finding it hard to focus. She was aware of how illogical she was
being, but she couldn’t move. The sound in the room had gone a little fuzzy.
Her feet rooted to the spot as she felt a familiar ice-cold tingle down her
spine. She tried to physically shake herself out of it but only her head twitched
in response.

Suze stood in front of Kirstin and tried to get a hold of her hand, which was
bright white and clenched tightly around the mineral water bottle she was carrying.

Kirstin shook her head from side to side almost imperceptibly.

Suze was worried, she turned around and asked Josh to go ahead and tell the
others there was a problem, which he did immediately. Kirstin gulped, but remained
silent. There was something Suze could see in Kirstin’s face that really worried
her. It wasn’t the wariness or even terror she’d faced before with friends that
hated flying. It was a calmer desolation, something more fundamental.

“Honey, it’s ok.” She realised she didn’t sound too convincing.

Kirstin took a step backward, followed by another, and another, until she hit
something solid.

“Shit!” She cursed, momentarily snapping out of the fear to deal with the obstacle.
Half turning around she suddenly felt a warmth around her.

The obstacle whispered in her ear.

“747.”

“What?” she answered, a little confused.

“It’s a Boeing 747. That’s what you were wondering, right?”

Kirstin turned back to the plane outside.

“Oh. Yeh. I know that,” she answered half irritated.

The warmth leaned in closer over Kirstin’s shoulder.

“Did you also know that it cruises at an average height of about 35,000ft and
at an average speed of over 550mph?”

Kirstin found her senses returning, she realised she had spoken a little out
of turn, “That’s pretty fast…” she commented almost inaudibly.

“I know. I also happen to know the entire safety procedure routine by heart.”

“You do not!” Kirstin said, half smiling.

“I do too,” Meg nodded in contradiction. “And if you promise to sit next to
me I’ll even do it for you.”

Meg’s face was open and earnest. Kirstin found herself frowning at her in despair,
realising that she was being placated with nonsense, but that strangely it was
working. She felt a little tension release in her back and she turned back to
regard the plane.

Meg found Suze’s gaze, her eyes full of admiration, “Go ahead and save us a
couple of seats,” she whispered to her.

Suze nodded and hurried off.

“You know I really don’t want get on that plane right.”

Kirstin looked at Meg seriously. Meg nodded gently.

“I also know that you’re more likely to be swept away in a flash flood than
fall out of the sky in an airplane.”

Kirstin didn’t appear to have heard the previous comment.

“Do you know what happened?” she asked Meg quietly.

Meg hadn’t considered there might be a real memory that had stimulated Kirstin’s
fear.

“No,” she admitted.

Kirstin took a deep breath and nodded apparently satisfied with her response
and evidently happy to leave it at that. She also seemed prepared to get a little
closer to the plane, and taking hold of Meg’s arm made a slow start toward the
gate ahead of them.

Kirstin explained, “I’m just gonna hold on to you for a bit, is that okay?”

“Sure,” replied Meg, at first a little shocked at the sober intimacy.

Kirstin was clearly concentrating on breathing.

“So tell me some more thoroughly useless facts and statistics about planes
that you can use to lure me into a false sense of security…”

Meg smiled warmly at her.

“You sure you want to get me started? You’ll have to shout at me to stop once
I get going…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll make you fully aware when it’s time to stop,” Kirstin assured
her, not taking her eyes off the plane ahead.

“Something tells me you’re not kidding…” said Meg carefully.

With that they headed to their gate with Meg in full flow.

#

Kirstin had made it on to the plane, and thanks to Meg the two and a bit hours
of flight time had passed by fairly easily. But as Kirstin knew, the worst was
yet to come. Her fear wasn’t about getting on the plane, and she could
already feel the descent being made.

“Is it bigger than my hand?” Meg asked, but Kirstin was busy pre-empting the
safety belt sign. Meg tried not to make a point of looking at her.

She and Kirstin had an aisle to themselves, and Kirstin had elected to take
the window seat. She had thought this would be a good idea since the last couple
of times she’d flown she’d been able to lose herself in the clouds for long
enough to shut her fear out. But this had turned into a very late evening flight,
and even in the middle of summer, midnight was pretty black. She estimated they
were still at least twenty minutes off landing.

Meg wasn’t sure how to reassure her. Distraction had been her best technique
so far, but two hours of waffling and playing games was bound to run into the
ground at some point. She raised an eyebrow at her own inappropriate internal
language.

Run into the ground, don’t fucking well go and say anything like that out
loud, dip-shit.

“That’s ok, you can just tell me, I’m getting a little tired of it now anyway.”

They had been indulging in a few games of ‘What’s in your toilet’, but Kirstin
had a very vivid imagination indeed, which had a tendency to draw the game out
somewhat.

“It’s a good game; weird name, but good game,” Kirstin said, evidently trying
not to seem slightly freaked out by a sudden drop in altitude.

“Yeh, we got it off this bands website, it’s great for keeping your head engaged
on long trips when you’re driving.”

She looked over at Kirstin whose eyes widened slightly with a further jolt
in the aircraft.

“That’s normal,” Meg said trying to reassure her.

“Mmm,” she replied, squeezing her lips together.

Here we go.

“If I had a cotton reel, a pin and some paper, I’d show you how this thing
stays up…” Kirstin flashed Meg an almost patronising look, “but… I’m sure you
already know that…” Meg added a little flustered, thinking she’d said the wrong
thing.

Kirstin sighed, “Well, I’ve never heard of the cotton reel thing but I sure
as Hell know a lot more about airplanes than I really want to.” She took a deep
breath. “Maybe some day I’ll tell you,” she added looking at Meg gratefully,
pulling the hair out of her face. “You’ve done a really good job pandering to
me today, I honestly appreciate it. And just so you know, when we land I may
grab your hand and squeeze pretty tight…”

Meg smiled at her openly. “Grab away.”

“I’m stronger than I look…” she warned, a smirk at the edge of her lips.

Meg’s kindness was evident and touching. Kirstin felt herself blush just a
little, but she accepted the contact, inter-lacing her fingers with the other
woman’s. A warm sense of calm and security passed over her.

Kirstin shook her head gently, “Peanuts are like rocket fuel, I don’t need
any more nervous energy right now!”

“How bout a vodka?”

Kirstin smiled and rolled her eyes before closing them in preparation for her
own personal kind of Hell.

Alcohol won’t help, trust me.

#

David Letterman

Meg flexed her left hand. “You weren’t kidding…” she whispered into the microphone
fastened to her jacket and catching Kirstin’s eye, knowing that probably only
Kirstin could hear.

They were backstage at The Late Show in New York City. Kirstin had been granted
permission to continue filming since they already had an agreement that the
final show footage could be included in the documentary. She was down a sound
operator however, and so at such short notice she had to take over the duty
herself. Suze would usually be first choice but Kirstin had conceded that she
needed to be on the floor anyway and so it made sense for her to take over.

Kirstin’s forehead crinkled in sorrowful apology.

“Sorry,” she mouthed across the room.

Meg snarled at her light-heartedly before continuing with her hand-stretches.
Kirstin pushed her headphones down to neatly rest on her shoulders and sat down,
pulling open the engineers satchel in order to route around in it.

The band had already been through makeup, and were seated in the studio’s green
room, which was more than comfortable. Kirstin had taken the opportunity to
ask them a few questions about the tour so far. Josh kept trying to get her
in shot, but he had eventually backed down by the third glare, which was beginning
to look pretty fierce.

Kirstin was one of those filmmakers that wasn’t keen on being in front of the
camera. Josh had to quickly remind himself that he was glad of that fact, since
the other kind of director was a particularly annoying breed.

Meg just thought that Josh was deliberately antagonising her.

Kirstin watched them all as she unwrapped a fresh digital-audio tape. They
all looked very Hollywood, she thought. Jess of course was leading the way,
naturally. Effortlessly. She was fiddling with the torn-up twenties style dress
she was wearing, agitated that she wasn’t allowed to smoke. The dress was fairly
short, but Jess had great legs. Her look was completed with big hefty biker
boots that Kirstin thought probably only Jess could get away with. The singer
sighed heavily, clearly bored with waiting, and kicked Ben who was sat opposite
her. He looked up and smiled.

“Wanna fight?” he growled.

Kirstin quickly readied herself to flee the room, but to her surprise Jess
shook her head.

“No, but you could do with muddying up, boy,” she smiled, looking
him up and down.

This was becoming a familiar pre-stage conversation Kirstin had noticed: The
messying up of her band mates.

Both Meg and Ben were wearing different versions of evening suits, their dark
hair slicked back. Kirstin liked the look, it suited them both. They strangely
looked at once more gay, and more straight than she’d seen either of them look
before.

Ironically, Meg was the one who looked straighter wearing a suit. Kirstin couldn’t
quite work out why. Perhaps it was because it was SO gay, it was almost
straight. Whatever that meant. In any case, no matter what, she was sure the
camera was going to love all the black and grey, especially under the studio
lights.

Kirstin dropped the tape she was holding and leant down to pick it up, acutely
aware that it was her turn to be watched.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Meg asked her as she fumbled with the tape.

“What?”

“Well, this is your home town right? I mean, are you going to be busy?”

“Oh, well, you know,” Kirstin sat back up and checked the tape for damage.
It looked okay. “I have a few things I should get done at the office, but it
shouldn’t take long, why?”

“I was hoping for the offer of a tour guide? Though I totally understand if
you just wanna go home and chill,” Meg stated firmly.

Finally managing to get the tape into the DAT recorder, Kirstin gathered her
thoughts quickly.

The band had already had their five-minute call. The others were all watching
the show on the monitor in the room. Kirstin could hear Mr Letterman rounding
off an interview with an A-list celebrity in his usual quirky manner.

“Well, sure… of course,” she smiled warmly, “I mean after yesterday it’s the
least I could do, right?”

“Well, no, technically the least you could do would be nothing…”

As Meg was speaking the runner came through to guide them onto set, “If you
wouldn’t mind joining me, you’re almost up…” she stated, cutting the conversation
short.

Kirstin signalled to Josh to start rolling again as they discussed, in order
to get a shot backstage of the band going onstage, which would provide them
with some good through-shot continuity.

The pair of them followed the band down the corridor. Kirstin had sound already
rolling and was holding the boom as close to the action as possible. Even though
there was no dialogue to pick up of note, it was important to get some good
atmospheric sound to cut with later. She could hear the runner declaring how
much she loved the band and asking if they’d sign something for her.

God, is everyone in this industry gay?

Kirstin thought as she distinctly caught the girl flash Meg a wanton smile.
Meg smiled back at her and winked, promising rather suggestively that they’d
sign anything she wanted. But the moment was disrupted as Meg heard them being
announced and headed out into the lights after the other two, to rapturous applause.

The girl bit her bottom lip. Kirstin frowned. Josh was ahead of her still shooting
footage from the side of the stage as per instruction. He stepped aside slightly
to let the previous guest pass by. Kirstin stopped her tape rolling and lowered
the boom, her job was pretty much done for the time being.

As she looked back up she noticed that the previous guest had been Clayton
Morris.

Wow, thought Kirstin.

She hadn’t really paid much attention to the monitor, though she suddenly remembered
she knew he’d be on the same show.

He was a flourishing, and terribly handsome, young American actor. Kirstin
found herself star-struck for a moment, as he headed towards her down the corridor.

It certainly wasn’t a feeling Kirstin was used to and she shook it out of her
head with a small laugh as he passed her by, smiling.

Smiling. Fucking talent, she thought, what an ego.

But she couldn’t help turning to watch him go, only to realise that he had
also turned back to regard her. He smiled again, shyly, and almost collided
with the green room door.

Kirstin had to let out a laugh. He seemed quite sweet. Or was it just the flattery
that had made her change her mind in an instant?

Probably.

Still, she could turn the head of an A-lister, even in her civvies wearing
a body-full of sound equipment. That was quite heartening.

Reasoning there was no need for her to stand around waiting for Josh, she headed
back to the green room, not really caring whether the young gentleman in question
thought she was following him or not. She had to watch the show anyway, and
that was the nearest monitor. As she entered the room there were a few of the
younger studio employees stood around pandering to him. Kirstin slumped down
in one of the chairs and watched the show, ignoring the sycophantic behaviour.

She had no real idea what to expect from the band, or from Jess in particular.
She figured Ben and Meg would probably follow her lead. Jess seemed to be behaving
from what she could see. None of them were high, and they were all seated for
the time being. It boded well, though Kirstin couldn’t help but hope for some
theatrics.

The room quietened down suddenly and Kirstin was aware that ‘fans’ were being
ushered out. A member of security headed her way, she anticipated him by holding
up her pass. He nodded and held a hand up by way of apology. She smiled and
re-focussed on the screen ahead of her.

“You know these guys?” the young man in question asked from across the room.

She looked around quickly to note they were alone so he clearly was
addressing her.

“Oh, yeh, we’re cutting a documentary on them,” she answered casually knowing
her accent was bound to prick his ears.

“Right, right.” Taking on board her nationality just as Kirstin had suspected
he would. “The singers pretty hot,” he remarked informally.

“Ha, yes, she is hot. Why, are you interested? I can get you her number,
if that’s what you’re after?”

Clayton opened his mouth slightly about to say something, but then clearly
changed his mind. Kirstin smiled. He probably wasn’t used to trying to chat
up girls that weren’t even remotely interested. Unfortunately Kirstin hadn’t
betted he’d be one for a challenge.

Oh for fucks sake, you’ll have to be a little less clichéd than that boy.

#

Wednesday free in NYC

The show had been a success; the band had played a couple of numbers and Jess
had been outrageously sexy in a fucked-up kind of way. Mr Letterman had taken
it all in good humour, and Kirstin had a phone number. In fact Kirstin had gotten
more than just a phone number. She shook her head.

The things we do…

But for now she was glad to be home for a while. She and her crew thankfully
had a much-needed day to go to their own homes and re-boot themselves. She had
unpacked and re-packed her suitcase for the next leg of the tour and Kirstin
suddenly found she had nothing much left to do.

The next show wasn’t until the following evening. She had already been to the
office to check on everyone, which was precisely what they had all accused her
of doing before shoo-ing her away to get some rest. Not before pressing her
for gossip first of course.

Ok. Bored. Bored now.

Picking up the phone she dialled.

“Good afternoon, The Warwick Hotel, how can help you?” came the crisp and well-spoken
voice.

“Good afternoon,” Kirstin’s English nature kicked in making her feel obliged
to return the formal politeness, “Can you put me through to Megan Roger’s room
please?”

“Certainly, I’ll just check the line now. May I ask who’s calling please?”

“It’s Kirstin Hart.”

“Thank you, one moment.”

Hold music clicked into the earpiece.

Vivaldi. ‘Spring’, if she wasn’t mistaken. Typical.

Kirstin was familiar with the Warwick, she had entertained many a client there.
It was very lush indeed, and well situated for her requirements. She was glad
she didn’t have to pocket the bill however.

“I’m sorry, Miss Rogers is unavailable. She has left a cell phone contact,
may I check if she’s available to speak with you?”

“Please do,” Kirstin chimed.

She was fully aware that the Hotel would not give out a guest’s mobile number.
They would simply call the number and check if the guest was willing to take
the call.

“Hello, Miss Hart?”

God they must write down every name as they hear it, thought Kirstin.
Why do they always call me ‘Miss’ though?

“Yes?”

“Miss Rogers is willing to take your call, may I connect you?”

I mean I COULD be married…

“Thank you, yes.”

“Hello?” came a slightly amused inquiry.

“Hey Meg, it’s Kirstin,” she breathed. “Or should I say,” Kirstin clipped her
tone and imitated the telephonist, “Miss Rogers it’s Miss Hart, she’d like
to know,” then sharply dropped the impersonation, “you still looking for
a guide?”

Kirstin thought she heard Meg smile down the phone.

“Yes! What took you so long?”

#

Meg had been out roaming the streets of New York City looking for something
better to do, and suddenly she’d found it, bursting through the door, making
quite an entrance.

“Hey…” Kirstin panted, pulling up a chair and sitting opposite Meg, turning
her back to the large window that looked out on to 5th Avenue.

She distinctly looked as though she might be hiding.

“Did you run?!” Meg asked a little surprised.

They had agreed to meet at the one place Meg thought she could remember her
way back to without the aid of a cab. According to the sign in the window the
café boasted the best hot chocolate in town.

“No, no… well, kinda…” Kirstin waved the suggestion and her subsequent denial
turned admission away, “It’s a long story involving me, a subway, this particular
guy that likes to follow me, and a few years of good humour that’s turning really
sour…”

“O-kay. Good, well… good.”

Meg wasn’t sure what to say, she lifted her cup from the steel table she was
sat at and took a sip.

It was a little colder outside than it had been for most of the tour, and in
comparison today was ever so slightly dreary. Kirstin was wrapped up in a well-cut,
three-quarter length, black woollen coat, with an equally elegant black scarf
thrown round her neck and over one shoulder.

“You have your fair share of admirers it seems…” Meg noted, placing the cup
back down.

She was about to feel severely under dressed until Kirstin undid her coat a
little and loosened off her scarf, revealing rather more casual attire of grey
sweater and jeans beneath. She was flushed from the cold, her cheeks slightly
pink. Meg thought it suited her.

“What?” Kirstin asked, shifting in her seat having undone her jacket.

“Well, I’m presuming I was stood up this morning because you had a late night…”
Meg suggested.

“I did not stand you up,” Kirstin said gesturing her existence in the space,
“and I did not have a late night…” she refuted.

“So you didn’t spend the night with Mr Morris?” Meg teased.

“Oh, yeh, well… I had a drink with him, he’s a pretty big name, y’know…” Kirstin
was dismissive.

“Ah-ha…”

“Plus, it won’t do my credibility any harm to be seen hanging around an A-lister.
He knows a lot of other big names…”

“And he totally fancies you! Did you…?” Meg left the notion hanging.

Kirstin twisted her head sharply, “What do you think?”

Meg considered the question carefully, “I don’t think you’re the star-fucking
type,” she said lowering her voice.

“Hm.” Kirstin looked at her, not sure whether to be flattered or not. “I also
have other priorities.”

A waitress found herself lingering by the table, “Would you like a drink?”
she asked courteously.

“Oh, um…”

Kirstin quickly noted that Meg had just finished off what looked like it may
once have been a hot chocolate with an abundance of marshmallows.

“No, thank you, we have a morning to catch up on.”

The waitress nodded and left.

“So, do you like modern art?” Kirstin asked, leaning across the table towards
Meg. “I feel like I’d like to show you some of my culture…”

“Your culture?” Meg chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck.

“Ironically, yes…” Kirstin smiled, her eyes showing a little excitement. “I
can’t believe you’ve lost touch with New York. I mean I thought you guys were
based in Toronto? That’s not that far.”

Meg affected a southern country accent, “Wahl, when you don’t got much money
you don’t go too far, Ma’am.”

“Staying at the Warwick I doubt very much money is that big an issue for you
nowadays…” Kirstin breezed. A thought occurred to her, “You don’t have the Cary
Grant do you?” Meg looked puzzled. “Nevermind… C’mon,” she instructed, standing
up, “it’s not often I get to see my own town either. There’s plenty I
want to show you.”

Meg stood up and lifted her blue parker jacket off the back of her chair. It
had an orange lining and a fur trim.

“That original?” Kirstin asked.

Meg nodded as she slipped it on and zipped it up, right to the top, almost
Kenny style, smiling broadly.

“Coooool.”

Meg was glad she thought so and grinned all the more.

You’re such a kid, thought Kirstin heading back out into the bustling
street, Meg hot on her heels.

#

The cowgirl hall of fame

In the grand scheme of the world New York was a Tardis, and travelling through
it with your eyes open could be exhausting. It helped to know a little nook
or cranny here and there.

“I like this place…” Meg told Kirstin as they were seated in a booth, “It’s
got character…”

Kirstin laughed, “Yeh, you could say that,” she responded, tapping the shade
of the wall lamp that lit their table, causing the small tassels to ruffle.

Having shown Meg the more interesting exhibitions at The Museum of Modern Art,
including a season of short films that she’d been itching to see, Kirstin had
announced that she was hungry. Even though The Cowgirl Hall of Fame was a little
out of their way, she knew it would be fairly quiet at this time, and the service
would be quick.

Most of the walls were covered in newspaper clippings, pictures, or old advertising
signs. There was certainly enough to look at, including deer antlers and chandeliers.

Meg had widened her eyes at the restaurant shop they had to pass before being
seated. Colourful wasn’t descriptive enough. But she sure had liked the look
of the large curved bar with a huge ten gallon hat pride of place.

Kirstin was more interested in the BBQ chicken range however, and the curly
fries. She was cooing over the menu, as she always did.

“You should’ve been born Texan…” Meg scoffed.

“I like meat,” Kirstin stated without apology.

“You should re-phrase that…”

Kirstin glared at her playfully.

“Want some beer? Or a Margarita?!”

“What time is it?” Meg answered her own question by looking at her cell phone.
“Fuck it, lets have both!”

Kirstin grinned at her giddily. The waitress came and took their rather large
order of meat and alcohol, and arrived moments later with a fresh Orange Margarita
and a beer for each of them. Kirstin pulled a face as she took a sip. Meg snorted
at her.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t like Margarita…”

“What the Hell did you order it for then?”

“I don’t know, I sometimes forget…”

“You forget?!” asked Meg somewhat sceptically.

“Well, yeh, or rather I think that maybe someone’ll mix it different.”

Aha, not afraid to re-trace past mistakes eh?

“You really are a case Miss Hart, I have to hand it to you…”

“I hate raisons too,” she said, her eyes widening a little, “but every now
and then I get this craving for one of those little yellow packets, you know
the boxes…?”

“The sun ripe ones?”

“Yeh, something like that… anyway, the point is sometimes I get a craving for
something I wouldn’t usually like, I can’t explain it. Mostly I get to enjoy
whatever it is for a bit, before I realise I hate it again, but not today, obviously!”

“You’re cute,” Meg stated. “Odd, but cute.”

Kirstin sighed, “Thanks,” she said ungratefully.

“I always wanted to be a cowgirl,” Meg announced, feeling that idiosyncrasies
had been laid out and she wanted to join in.

“Really? Do you ride?”

“Aha.”

“I never knew that…”

“Why would you?”

Kirstin opened her mouth, shook her head and said, “Good point…” she slid her
Margarita across the table to Meg, “I can see you in hat and boots actually,
it’d suit you. Maybe you should suggest it to Jess as an on-stage theme?” her
eyes lit up at the thought.

“Well mebbe ah will…” Meg slurred, sounding a little like the bands manager
Al. She enjoyed the fact that Kirstin was enjoying the thought. “You trying
to get me drunk?” she asked as she took note of the Margarita that had been
shoved her way.

“What, I need to try now??”

Meg smiled, “No, but if I’m drinking this then you have to play catch up…”

“Okay,” Kirstin accepted with a brief shrug.

In the four or so weeks since they had been touring most evenings seemed to
result in bars and restaurants or clubs. There was not much escaping it. Drinking
was a staple, and Kirstin was perfectly able to match any of them.

When the waitress came back she ordered two Sambuca’s which were neatly downed.

“What?” she looked at Meg whose mouth was hanging open in disbelief.

“You mean business!”

“Nah, I mean NO business. Day off, remember?”

Meg chuckled, “Yes ma’am, no business!”

They spent a good couple of hours tucking into their feast, and washing it
down with beer. Meg as ever was astounded by the sheer amount of food the smaller
woman could consume at one sitting. They chatted about the museum pieces they
had seen earlier that day, and Kirstin was pleasantly surprised to find that
Meg was not only genuinely interested, but also had a lot to say. It wasn’t
long before the questions turned more specifically to the films, which lead
to further, more personal, inquiries.

“So when you’re not making stupid Rocku-mentaries,” the word was spoken with
a touch of disdain, “what do you work on? I mean, I’m asking because I doubt
very much with the amount of filmmakers in this city, that every director gets
the kind of attention you enjoyed earlier today…”

Meg was talking of the private viewing they had been afforded of some very
rare film footage at the gallery. It hadn’t been scheduled for that day, but
all Kirstin needed to do was bat an eye at the curator whom she already seemed
to have wrapped around her finger.

“Oh, no, well the special ‘attention’ as you put it, was probably more due
to the fact that I try to put a lot of work their way whenever I can. As opposed
to me being all that important.”

“Well, that kinda makes you sound important…” Meg pointed out.

“Huh. Yeh. Well, I’m not un-important,” Kirstin clarified.

“Hm.”

Meg strongly suspected that Kirstin was deliberately selling herself short.
Taking credit wasn’t her style, unless she was in front of the boardroom, or
trying to win a bid. That was an entirely different affair, where arrogance
could actually work in your favour. But in the real world, she was far more
reserved. In the real world her achievements were superficial, Kirstin knew
that, and that was part of what kept her grounded.

“C’mon…” Meg raised her beer, “tell me what you do! What you’ve worked on…
You can see what I’ve been up to the last seven years, you can read every grubby
little detail, but what have you been up to?”

Kirstin smiled at Meg’s apparent sudden interest.

“Ok. You really wanna know?” she frowned, “If you don’t watch much cable, you
probably won’t have seen any of it…”

Meg raised her brow, “Trust me, I’ve watched my fair share of cable… what do
you think I do when we’re not gigging?? I play a lot of Playstation games too…”

Kirstin laughed, knowing she had seen plenty of evidence of that in the arcade
a couple of days ago.

“Ok. Well, after I finished studying in England I messed around as a freelance
runner for a few terrestrial companies before landing a job working the floor
for an auction station…”

Kirstin didn’t seem too keen to linger on this topic.

“What, like QVC?” Meg asked genuinely.

Kirstin narrowed her eyes, “A little… except English and not quite so glitzy,”
she snorted. “Then I worked on a couple of small features as assistant D.O.P…”

Meg butted in, “D.O.P?”

“Director of Photography…”

Meg nodded, “That sounds important too…”

“Kinda. Anyway, after a couple of years I got a little frustrated with the
close-nit community of filmmakers,” Meg detected some disgust, “and decided
to head back over the water…”

“Right…” Meg drawled, “that’s like the first five years frittered away right
there…” she indicated.

Kirstin ignored her by talking over the end of her comment, “I managed to weedle
my way into the New York branch of Crater Films almost by default as a production
manager. My uncle is pretty high up, in fact he’s now almost my boss, but at
the time no-one batted an eyelid because I’d worked with their English sister
company, Pocket Productions.”

“You’re missing out something vital…”

“Sorry?”

“Didn’t you work in California for a bit?” Kirstin visibly blushed. “The internet
is a wonderful thing…” Meg explained.

“Oh God…” Kirstin scrunched up her face, and took a big swig of beer.

“You weren’t going to mention it?”

“I try to forget it!” Kirstin squinted.

It was an understatement.

Meg started to grin, and then she giggled like a kid. “Lucky for you I’m pretty
discreet…” she poked a finger at the blonde woman opposite her.

“Well, okay, stay that way would ya? And I’m glad you’re so amused.”

“But you looked so cute…” Meg pouted.

“Oh, god, there you go with that word again!” She took a short breath. “Okay,
yes, I did work in California. But my time in front of the camera was very brief.”

There was a much more real reason for Kirstin’s sudden departure from part-time
reporter back to full time newsroom floor manager, but she was still a little
wary of the woman in front of her. Kirstin didn’t divulge things like that too
easily, and she reasoned the truth about California could wait.

“But you looked good out in the sun.”

“Ok, shut up now,” she warned playfully. “The one thing I will say is
that it gave me a lot of respect for the ego’s that can stand to do it. It’s
a tough job.”

Even tougher when you’ve got something to hide.

Meg wasn’t sure why but she sensed she should leave the subject ball in Kirstin’s
court, making a mental note to have the topic revisited at a later date.

“Ok, well what have you worked on since you arrived back in New York?”

Kirstin was very proud of the body of work she had produced over the last few
years, it was a lot easier to talk about.

“Well, my subsidiary works all kinds of jobs, mostly TV ads and corporate videos,
some short sponsored films, and the occasional mini series.”

“What ads have you made?”

Kirstin tried not to let her business pitch kick in but it was hard to leave
it completely out of her tone.

“Currently our biggest contracts are with Honda, Diesel, Crank and Adidas.
They’re not strictly exclusive, but they might as well be,” she smiled easily.

Meg was a little stunned, her research of Kirstin hadn’t yet extended into
her current job and she was suddenly a little more impressed than she had expected
to be.

“They’re really big players?”

“Yeh,” Kirstin nodded.

“Wow.” Meg blinked. “Wait, did you say Crank?”

“Aha.”

“You’re responsible for that ad?” It was a statement more than a question.

“Probably, which one?” she answered coolly.

“Don’t gimme that, you know which one, the one that’s all like matrix/csi,
with the fighting and the heart beat and the pulses and the girls?”

Kirstin laughed. “Trust you to pick that outta my back catalogue…”

“Are you kidding? That was amazing!”

Kirstin blushed again, “Thank you.” It was an odd reaction that she didn’t
quite understand. She had received plenty of praise for that advert, not to
mention the odd bit of fan mail, as well as an award. And yet the fact that
Meg had applauded it made her blush.

Must be the drink.

“It’s also very gay…” Meg sneered.

Kirstin looked at her, willing her to twig.

She can’t be THAT naive? Surely? No, c’mon.

“Uh, ya-ha…” she imitated Jess, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed, “Girl on girl
sells Meg, so long as it’s safe and still open to male fantasy. We both know
that.”

“Well it certainly works for me! And most of the gay girl population I imagine!”
she smiled easily.

Kirstin opened her mouth to speak, but something had a hold of her windpipe
and her throat dried up. She let out the breath she realised she’d been holding
and nodded, taking a huge gulp of beer.

Then she paused for a moment, deep in thought.

Why is it such a big deal? Kirstin asked herself. Why can’t I just
say “You’re not the only girl that likes girls Meg”? It was weird.

Meg’s sexuality was out there for everyone to see, not just the people she
worked with and dined with, but for the whole frikkin’ world to see. And though
Kirstin didn’t like to hide who she was, she had never been one to make those
kinds of bold statements. She had always felt it was no-one else’s business
with whom she chose to sleep. But suddenly she found herself resenting the ease
with which Meg seemed to live her life. She mentally kicked herself.

You have no fucking idea who this woman is, or what she’s been through.
Don’t judge her. Watching Meg intently she corrected herself, it’s not
resentment, stupid, it’s envy.

For Kirstin on more than one occasion her choice of bed buddy had been a major
issue in her life professionally. She had learned to be careful about her choice
of words, as well as her choice of friends. California had been a huge learning
curve for her in an industry that she had once believed had grown up. It had
made moving back to New York easy.

Kirstin very nearly choked on her beer. If only Meg knew how very close to
the mark she was.

#

Discovering the dens of second hand places

After their meal Kirstin showed Meg the rest of the neighbouring area, dragging
her into all kinds of strange and wonderful shops. Meg took to the second-hand
shopping dens located downtown with relish, and in wonder. This was the kind
of shopping she’d been hunting for earlier in the day.

Judging by Kirstin’s generally well-styled appearance she would never have
guessed the other woman was into this kind of retail. She found herself wondering
what Kirstin’s apartment must look like, based on the items she’d been cooing
over all afternoon.

Let’s see; There was an old fifties bubblegum machine, a couple of brown
metal chests, some cowboy boots, various old lamps from every era imaginable,
a juke box… And now we come across a vinyl record shop.

Meg lingered back little in the street, waiting to see if Kirstin would go
in. The day, though it was now beginning to fade, had eventually brightened
up, but what it hadn’t done was warm up. She could just about still see her
breath.

Kirstin didn’t seem to notice Meg hanging back and sure enough, she took one
look at the next shop in the row and picked up her pace. Turning briefly to
smile at Meg, checking she was behind her, she sauntered in.

Ok. Now lets see what aisle she picks.

#

A couple of hours later and Kirstin’s purse was a whole lot lighter.

“So. You have a vinyl addiction…”

Kirstin laughed, “Well if I do, it’s no worse than yours,” she scoffed,
slapping her shoulder neatly with the back of her free hand.

The pair of them had left the store with a bag or two, and skipped to the next,
and then the next, until they’d both admitted they really needed to unload their
bags, find some more food and somewhere comfy to sit.

Meg was delighted to discover that Kirstin had headed pretty much straight
to the Elvis section, though her purchases had been, in Meg’s opinion, very
well balanced across numerous genres. The choices consisted mostly of rare editions,
including a 7” red vinyl copy of ‘Little Red Corvette’, and a rare press pack
copy of ‘Broken English’ that they’d both fought over. But Kirstin had made
her a deal, and Meg was more than happy with the copy of Doris Day they’d found.

“Look, I even named my car after her, so clearly I DO love her as much
as Marianne, and therefore I am just as jealous that you have that,”
she pointed, “as you are of me having this…” Kirstin had stated,
shaking the blue cover with the emblazoned cigarette burning in the corner.

Kirstin had almost been exasperated, Meg thought, or as close as she’d seen
her come in the last four weeks or so.

She’d lowered her voice to Meg, “Can I have it?” she had asked quietly, leaning
into her stooped figure as they both stood, half bent over the row of ‘M’ rock
and roll records in front of them.

Meg had looked into the pleading, and pleasingly bright, hazel eyes, and had
given in to the gentle passion she saw there.

“Sure, okay,” she had smiled, her voice soft, mirroring the warmth that became
her reward. She felt the woman next to her relax with delight. “Can I have visiting
rights?” Meg had asked, her brow furrowing with the unexpected need to share
this memory again sometime, with Kirstin.

Kirstin had looked at her thoughtfully. This was the first mention of the possibility
of any future meeting, beyond the tour, that the two might share. She decided
in that moment she was definitely not apposed to the notion.

“I think that’s only fair.”

They were now heading towards the subway. Meg had insisted on carrying more
of the bags, promising she had no intention of pilfering any of the more coveted
contents.

A memory had suddenly hit Kirstin, prompting a conversation that caused Meg
a little discomfort.

“Didn’t you get done for that?”

The liquor they had consumed earlier was still coursing nicely through Kirstin’s
veins, and the ease with which they had been associating for most of the remaining
afternoon had lulled her into territory that meant she hadn’t really thought
about the fact it might be an inappropriate conversation.

“What?” Meg asked uneasily.

“Shop lifting? Am I totally making that up? Maybe it was someone else…” she
shook her head and looked apologetic.

“No, no…” Meg groaned, “that was me alright…”

Meg’s tone reminded Kirstin of the confines she had established and applied
earlier that day when a topic she didn’t want to discuss had been brought up.
She immediately regretted having spoken.

“Well, that was a long time ago,” she said hurriedly as she surveyed the street
for a passing cab, deciding she couldn’t face the train. “I guess you don’t
have time for that now…” she laughed trying to make light of the subject as
she raised her arm to hail.

Meg accepted the unspoken change of plan easily.

“For a second there I thought you were going to say something more along the
lines of ‘now you’re rich you don’t need to do that’…”

The cab driver indicated that he was going to dangerously swing across the
two lanes of steady moving traffic to come and pick them up, so they halted
on the sidewalk in anticipation.

Kirstin took a breath. “Actually I almost did,” she said candidly, “but then
I realised how patronising that sounded, and remembered that shop lifting isn’t
necessarily about not having money…”

Meg was a little taken aback at the admission, “You’re just full of surprises
aren’t you?” she wasn’t used to Kirstin’s direct nature, it was refreshing.

“Why do people keep saying that to me?”

“Maybe it’s because the first impression you give is a little off-balance in
retrospect…”

She had meant it to be a compliment.

“Maybe it’s the judgement you make based on appearance that’s off balance,”
Kirstin chided.

Meg cocked her jaw, “Huh…” and thought about it briefly from this new angle,
“Yeh… you’re right. That told me…” she admitted.

No, I rather think it didn’t, thought Kirstin ruefully.

The cab pulled up and the pair of them climbed in, bags and all. They both
sat there realising they hadn’t actually discussed the next plan of action.

The cab driver asked, “Where to?”

They both looked at one another in confusion, neither one wishing to leave
the other, yet both a little uncertain as to what to suggest.

Kirstin was aware of the immediate pressure to make a decision and bit the
bullet,

“I’m not ready for the day to be done yet,” she said hurriedly.

Meg sighed relief internally, “Me either…” she quickly agreed.

“Okay, well, how about we go back to my apartment and play a few of these records,
grab something to eat and see if we can’t find something in town to amuse ourselves
with a little later on?”

“Ladies?” the driver was being beeped from all sides.

Meg avidly nodded her approval.

Kirstin smiled, “Brooklyn please,” she directed at the cabbie.

Meg looked at her.

“You live in Brooklyn?”

“Yeh. You didn’t think I still lived in Buffalo did you? I wasn’t about to
get a cab there…” she teased.

Meg snorted, “No, no… I just… I don’t know…” She paused, not sure why she was
surprised really. “My Mom still lives in Buffalo…” she said eventually, almost
whimsically.